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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944310">Twitter Requests</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath'>Carrogath</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:47:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts from Twitter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorothea Arnault/Mercedes von Martritz, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz, Marianne von Edmund/Edelgard von Hresvelg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Twitter Requests</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompts were as follows:</p><p>- because I am so predictable... Mercigrid, and the sentence: "healing a knight that continues marching to her death", something along the lines of Mercie quietly chastising Ingrid for her recklessness in Mercie's typical sweet and savage manner</p><p>- marianne/edelgard + inspiring one another because cf marianne calls her radiant and admires her for having the courage to change the world like she does</p><p>- i would love a dorocedes one where they’re talking about empire art :’) something about classical vs abstract and as witty as usual</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cuts sting a little more than usual, this time. Mercedes dabs them with a wet cloth that smells thickly of herbs, quick and brutal and efficient. She presses her fingers into the bruises on Ingrid’s ribs until Ingrid winces, and after all is said and done she doesn’t use a single healing spell.</p><p>“You have no broken bones,” says Mercedes. “The cuts and bruises will heal on their own.” She nudges Ingrid’s uninjured shoulder to prompt her up off the stool and out of the tent. “Now run along; there are others waiting for me.”</p><p>Ingrid stands, but she doesn’t move. Mercedes’s face is as blank as ever, but there’s a stiffness in her shoulders and in her expression that gives her mood away.</p><p><em>Women</em>, Ingrid thinks.</p><p>This is a stupid hill to die on. It’s an immensely stupid hill to die on and Ingrid knows it; she’s not going to win this argument and at most can hope for a slightly wounded ego over a sound thrashing. She wets her lips and stares at her. Mercedes holds her head up high, and doesn’t say a word.</p><p>Goddess, she’s beautiful when she does that.</p><p>Ingrid considers her options.</p><p><em>“Are you upset?”</em> Of course she is.</p><p><em>“I tried my best to stay out of danger.”</em> That’s just begging for an ironic response.</p><p><em>“I love you.”</em> That just sounds like begging, period.</p><p>Ingrid isn’t even that injured. She’s been hurt worse before. Mercedes is being petty today, she supposes.</p><p>That’s a lie. Mercedes is never petty, at least not over things like this. Ingrid just isn’t thinking hard enough.</p><p>She runs through a dozen more responses in her head, and as she does she knows the seconds are ticking by.</p><p>“Ingrid,” Mercedes finally says. “You’re holding up the line.”</p><p>“Thank you,” says Ingrid. Mercedes blushes. “I feel as though I don’t say that nearly often enough.” She rests her hand on Mercedes’s cheek, so that when she leans in and kisses her she can feel the heat rise up off her skin.</p><p>The other soldiers jeer and catcall when they break apart, but Ingrid is grinning as she makes her way out.</p><p>“Fool,” Mercedes whispers, but for once Ingrid knows she doesn’t mean it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“…That concludes the summary of our report. The results of the mission were a success.”</p><p>Edelgard nods in approval. “You’re dismissed, Byleth.” She turns to Marianne. “Would you mind staying for a few more minutes, Marianne?”</p><p>Marianne nods wordlessly in response. Byleth gives her a warm smile and then turns towards the door, exiting the war room and leaving the two alone in silence.</p><p>Edelgard stares down at the sheathed sword in her hands. “So this is the Relic that Maurice left behind.” Then she glances up at Marianne. “May I see it?”</p><p>Marianne places it on the table and unsheathes the sword. It’s a deadly, beautiful thing—ridged bone and a curving, sinuous hilt, the Crest Stone of Maurice fitted into the pommel. It’s about her size too, which unnerves her: neither too long, nor too short. When she grips the handle and gives it a few experimental swipes, the sword wields in her hand like a dream.</p><p>“It’s as though it was made for you.” Edelgard’s gaze on her is open, uncomfortable. Marianne forces herself not to shrink away. “Do you think you’ll be able to wield it?”</p><p>She carves an arc through the air with the blade. “I suppose,” she says—whispers, really.</p><p>“Do you want to wield it?”</p><p>Marianne looks at her. There’s no judgment in her gaze, but rather mere curiosity. She feels the tension in her shoulders settle.</p><p>“No,” Marianne replies, honestly. She sheathes the blade. “I don’t want to fight at all. Maurice may be dead, but his legacy still haunts me.” She looks away from her. “As you have your own ghosts, so too do I have mine.”</p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Edelgard grin.</p><p>“Feeling braver already, I see.”</p><p>Marianne smiles a bit. “Perhaps.”</p><p>Edelgard paces around her, so that she’s in Marianne’s field of view. “Be honest with me, Marianne,” she says, and there’s an intimacy to her tone, “how do you think the war is going?”</p><p>“That’s for the Goddess to decide, and not me.”</p><p>Edelgard tsks in obvious discontent.</p><p>“I couldn’t do anything for myself, at the start,” says Marianne. “I couldn’t fathom being in your position: starting a war, raising an army, attacking your own classmates… I think I was taken in, just for a bit.”</p><p>“And now?” Edelgard looks at her.</p><p>“You wouldn’t see the value in such blind admiration, would you?”</p><p>Edelgard’s smile cuts to the quick. “I would not. So then answer my question.”</p><p>“I hope you’ll give me a reason to stay, once this is all over,” says Marianne. She grips the sword tightly in her hands. “And for that, I’m willing to do anything.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Their museum trip had gone swimmingly so far, Mercedes thought. The Imperial Museum of Art in Enbarr held three entire floors of painting and sculpture, along with a basement, weekly tours and a rotation of special exhibits in the main hall. She had been so enthused when Dorothea suggested it that about twenty minutes into their visit she asked to start planning the next. They certainly wouldn’t be able to get through it all today.</p><p>Dorothea was a darling conversationalist, no less. Who else would be able to remark with such gusto on the crook of Appius IV’s nose or the angle of Hortensius I’s tastefully diminutive genitals, rendered in such loving detail that they couldn’t possibly be a faithful representation of the original? They passed by paintings of kings and emperors, still lifes and battlegrounds, scenes of miracles and everyday life and a million pasty-faced nobles, all of whom shared the same constipated expression as if they’d been standing for much too long and wouldn’t be able to make it out of the studio on their own.</p><p>They had been enjoying themselves, at least until they reached a certain hallway.</p><p>Dorothea stopped dead at the entrance.</p><p>Mercedes gripped her partner’s hand tight. “Dorothea? Is there a problem?”</p><p>“Mercedes,” Dorothea whispered, “do you see the sign?” She pointed up.</p><p>“Um,” Mercedes looked at the sign, and then at Dorothea. “It says ‘Modern Art.’”</p><p>Her expression was very serious. “That’s the problem.”</p><p>Mercedes blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”</p><p>“’Modern Art,’” Dorothea said again, and slower this time, as if doing that would make her actions any more intelligible. “That hall leads to the modern art wing. It’s the bane of anyone who has less than a thousand hectares to their name!”</p><p>“I don’t see any sign that says we’re not allowed to go in,” Mercedes remarked.</p><p>“It’s the principle of the thing.”</p><p>“The principle,” Mercedes repeated. “You don’t want to enter the room… on principle?”</p><p>Dorothea spread her arms wide. “What do you think of when you think of modern art?”</p><p>“Um…” Mercedes thought about it. “Line? Form? Color? Abstraction?”</p><p>“Rich people,” said Dorothea. “You think of rich people who sip expensive champagne out of wine flutes and nibble on flavorless crackers covered in molded cheese and brag about their wives and their houses and their net worth and do everything but talk about the actual art.” She humphed and folded her arms. “You couldn’t pay me to go in.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mercedes folded her hands together, “but I do want to hear your opinions on the latest Gentileschi.”</p><p>Her frown softened. “I do love a good Gentileschi.”</p><p>Mercedes took one of Dorothea’s hands in her own. “What can I do to convince you to come with me?”</p><p>Dorothea looked at her and blinked once, twice. Then she smiled and pecked her on the lips.</p><p>“Nothing,” she said. “You know better than to think that I could ever resist you.”</p><p>She tugged on Mercedes’s hand, and together, they went in.</p>
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